


Couldn't Hide From The Thunder

by RobinsonsWereHere



Series: We Move On Despite The Loss [1]
Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Childbirth, Christianity, F/M, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Pregnancy, Romance, Team as Family, Trying to Cope, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22373758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinsonsWereHere/pseuds/RobinsonsWereHere
Summary: During their time in Birmingham, Tom and Barbara conceive a child. They return to Poplar eager to share their news with their friends and family, who are overjoyed for them. The newlyweds are beyond happy to be expanding their family. Their first year together is one of joy and expectation.But a few short months after their child is born, Barbara gets sick...
Relationships: Barbara Gilbert & Phyllis Crane, Barbara Gilbert/Tom Hereward, Tom Hereward & Original Child Character(s), Tom Hereward & Phyllis Crane
Series: We Move On Despite The Loss [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665856
Comments: 16
Kudos: 24





	1. The Lord Giveth

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I've been planning this fic for a few days, ever since I watched 7x07 (😢). If you haven't seen season 7, this fic is not for you. I'm really excited for this idea, and I hope you all will like it too!

In Birmingham, Tom and Barbara have traded their small flat for a house attached to the church that’s slightly bigger. They both like it fine, although each can tell the other misses the familiarity and comfort of Poplar. Tom won’t say so because he’s working hard to devote himself to his new church, but he knows Barbara can see through him. And as for her, the way she’s throwing herself into the social responsibilities of being the curate’s wife is admirable, but the pads and pads of paper she’s used writing letters to home reminds Tom that Barbara is just as homesick as he is.

And recently, she’s been a different kind of sick, too.

Tom has been at a lunch with most of the staff of the church, beginning to plan for his departure in the next couple of months. He brings home a plate of finger sandwiches, hoping Barbara feels more inclined to eat than she has over the past few days.

“Do you have food?” Barbara groans, lifting her head from the pillows as soon as Tom steps into the bedroom.

“I absolutely do,” he answers, holding up the plate. “Egg salad sandwich?”

Barbara frowns. “Not right now… the smell is turning my stomach.”

It’s Tom’s turn to frown; he’s growing more worried with each meal that she skips. “Alright, then. I’ll get it out of sight.” He returns the plate to the kitchen, then re-enters the bedroom, sitting on the side and taking Barbara’s hands in his. “Are you still feeling bad?”

She shrugs. “Just tired, mostly. I don’t want to eat, but I don’t feel sick unless there’s something strong-smelling nearby.”

Tom lays a hand on her forehead, which is essentially the extent of his medical expertise. She doesn’t feel warm, but… “are you sure you’re not coming down with something? Perhaps I should get a doctor to see you, just in case.”

“I’m fine, Tom,” Barbara insists, as she’s done for the past week. “It’s just a bug; it’ll be gone with rest and fluids.”

“Barbara…” he rubs his thumb over the back of her hand. “You know more than I do, but you’ve been sick like this all week. Are you sure it’s nothing worrisome?”

“Very,” she insists. “None of my symptoms are worrisome. I’m still drinking water, I’m just a bit fatigued, and slightly sick to my stomach. Aside from that I really don’t have any symptoms of illness, just--” she breaks off abruptly, and Tom watches in confusion as her expression turns to one of shock. “Good Lord, Tom,” she says after a moment. “I think I’m pregnant!”

Tom simply stares at her, trying to wrap his mind around what she’s said. “Come again?”

Barbara laughs. “Oh, I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner! I can’t eat, I’m inexplicably fatigued, and it’s been months since my last cycle… goodness, some midwife I am.”

Around this point, Tom’s brain slowly begins to work again. “Barbara…” a grin spreads over his face. “Barbara, are you saying we’re having a baby?”

“Yes!” She giggles happily, and Tom finds himself chuckling, too; her laughter is infectious. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

He’s not sure he even has the words to tell her how marvelous this is, how happy he is, how much he loves her. So instead of trying to find them, Tom leans over and kisses her gently on the lips, his hand sliding into her hair.

She sighs and kisses him back, and as often happens with them, it goes on for quite a long time. When they finally do stop to breathe, he finds himself grinning as wide as he ever has, with Barbara grinning right back. “I love you,” he whispers. Carefully reaching out, he touches her stomach, stroking his fingers over the material of her dress. “You have no idea how much I love you.”

Barbara cups his face in her hands, her mouth close enough for him to kiss again. “Oh, Tom, I think I do.”

\---

A few weeks after her realization, Barbara is finally getting used to the idea that she’s pregnant. It might have something to do with the way her stomach is beginning to round, a small bump only really visible when she’s undressing, or in her nightgown. She’s absolutely thrilled to be starting her family with Tom, but at the same time, this is only making her homesickness worse.

She wants to see her friends again, wants the suffocating group hug that will surely result from her telling them of her pregnancy. She wants to attend antenatal checks at the lively, bustling clinic. She wants Phyllis with her when her baby is born.

_We’ve got plenty of time for that,_ she reminds herself, a hand drifting to her stomach. _I can’t be more than three or four months along. Plenty of time._

She’s pulled from her thoughts by the door swinging open, and Tom stepping halfway through. He appears to be struggling with something heavy, so Barbara goes to assist him, only for him to stop her when she reaches for one bag of groceries.

“Don’t worry, love, I’ve got these,” he grunts. “No need for you to exert yourself.”

Barbara laughs and plucks a sack from his armful. “Maybe make two trips next time,” she suggests. “What have we got here?”

“Things for soup,” he answers. “Should be light enough for you to handle, I hope.”

Barbara nods. She’s gotten better at managing the morning sickness, now she knows what’s going on. “I’m sure we can make something good out of all this.”

Tom kisses her on the cheek. “Let me get washed up, and then I’ll help. And actually… I have some news for you.”

She raises her eyebrows as he rolls up his sleeves and steps up to the sink. “News? We’ve had quite a lot of news recently…”

“Well, I think you’ll like this,” he says with a grin. “Mrs. Harrison’s nephew has just finished his training in seminary. He’s hoping to begin his clergical career in a familiar church. I’ve been discussing the matter with a few members of the vestry, but…” the smile she knows and loves grows. “I wanted to wait to tell you until I knew we were going home.”

Barbara gasps. “Back to Poplar!?”

“At the end of the month!”

She abandons her vegetable sorting to kiss him firmly on the lips. “Oh, Tom, that’s wonderful!”

“I love you, Barbara,” he tells her, as if she’s not already so certain of that fact. “I love how you are such an angel, so willing to come with me wherever I am called. And I know you want to go home.”

She laughs softly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Am I that obvious?”

He kisses her again. “Well, I want it, too. What better place to start our family than surrounded by friends?”

Barbara wipes at her now-teary eyes and leans into Tom’s chest, feeling his arms wrap around her. “That sounds just about perfect.”

\---

Tom fills a paper plate with finger sandwiches and sliced vegetables, then carries it across the forest clearing to his wife. Barbara is on a picnic blanket with Lucille and Valerie, and even from yards away, he can hear their lighthearted laughter.

“And how long did it take you to figure it out?” Lucille is asking, a smile on her face like she knows the answer.

“Well,” Barbara sighs, shrugging, “I’ll admit I lazed around in bed for a week before I bothered to consider anything other than a head cold. But once I thought about it, I put the pieces together fairly quick!”

The nurses burst into laughter at that, and Tom can’t help but chuckle with them. He takes a seat in the grass next to his wife, handing her the plate of food. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No, but this all looks delicious,” Barbara replies. She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.”

He smiles at her, sitting so that she can lean against him. His hand travels to her growing stomach, feeling the bump through the stretched fabric of her dress. She’s about halfway along, supposedly. He wonders when she’ll start to need maternity clothes.

He’s only drawn out of his thoughts when Barbara turns in his arms, smiling at him with laughter in her eyes. “Tom? Valerie is talking to you.”

“I think you’ve got all of his attention, Barbara,” Valerie says. She grins at them. “Lovebirds.”

“Sorry,” Tom apologizes. “What were you saying?”

“I asked how you liked Birmingham,” Valerie repeats. “Although it does seem the answer is rather obvious.”

Barbara turns bright red, and Tom just sighs and shakes his head. Lucille smacks Valerie on the arm. “Valerie Dyer! You’re worse than Trixie.”

“Speaking of which,” says Barbara, clearly hoping for a subject change, “where is Trixie? I haven’t seen her yet…”

The laughter quiets, and the way the nurses quickly sober makes Tom wary of their answer. “She’s on a sabbatical, I suppose,” Valerie says. “In Italy, with her aunt. I think… well, we’ll just say the stress of the job was getting to her.”

“Oh,” Barbara sighs, her mouth twisting into a frown. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry to hear that.”

“You should write to her,” Lucille suggests. “I’m sure she’d love to hear your news. We’ve been sending her those penny postcards from the general store to make fun of the ones we’ll surely receive from ‘beautiful Italy’.” Clearly this is a running joke, because Valerie strikes a pose like a magazine model.

Barbara and Lucille burst into laughter again, and return to discussing things Tom only has vague ideas about, not that he minds. He’s content to sit in the grass with his wife in his arms, occasionally stealing a bite of food from her plate.

In fact, he thinks he’d be content to live like this for the rest of his life.

\---

Barbara sips at a glass of water, leaning on the windowsill as she stares out at the dark Poplar night. It’s past midnight, but between the nesting instinct, being kicked in the organs, and frequent trips to the bathroom, she knows she’ll never get to sleep. Even aside from all of that, she just has a _feeling_ tonight…

In years past, she’s always been a bit in awe of the mothers who will say things like ‘it’s time’ or ‘today’s the day’ before they’ve felt so much as a contraction. Now, however, Barbara has a similar feeling. She’s a good forty weeks pregnant. Her healthy baby continues to squirm and kick, assuring her that everything is okay. Everything is ready, even if she and Tom don’t feel entirely prepared. Barbara has an innate certainty that her labor will begin within the next few hours.

She quickly finds out she’s right.

\---

Phyllis is on call tonight, which means she’s sitting with a book and a warm mug of tea by the phone. It’s been quiet since that afternoon, when Nurse Anderson had gone out to deliver Mrs. Herring’s third baby. Now, just past two in the morning, it rings again.

_Babies so often like to arrive when the world is quiet,_ she reflects, already reaching for the handset. “Nonnatus house, midwife speaking.”

_”Phyllis, it’s Barbara,”_ comes a familiar voice. _"I’ve gone into labor. My water broke about ten minutes ago, and the contractions are getting closer.”_

Phyllis blinks in surprise, mostly at the matter-of-fact tone of Barbara’s voice. “Well, then, I should get over there, shouldn’t I?” She grabs her bag from the floor by the phone table. “I’m on my way; you just make yourself comfortable. It doesn’t sound like I need to tell you to stay calm.”

_”I’ll see you soon, Phyllis. I suppose I should wake Tom up.”_

Phyllis chuckles at that. _“Yes, I’ll see you soon.”_

\---

Tom is soundly asleep when he feels someone shoving at his shoulder. The touch alone doesn’t rouse him fully, but his wife’s voice does. “Tom, darling, I--” she seems to choke on her words, and the pained noise that follows wakes Tom enough to roll over.

“Barb’ra?” His senses and words are fogged with sleep. “Wha’s wrong?”

“I’m in labor,” she pants, a hand on her belly. “Don’t worry; everything seems to be going well, and I’ve already called Phyllis. She’ll be here soon.”

It takes a minute for her words to register, but as soon as he processes them, Tom sits bolt upright in bed. “What? Labor? As in, the baby’s coming? Now?”

“Yes, Tom,” she says patiently, moving slowly to sit on the bed. “Don’t panic.”

“I’m not panicking,” he mumbles, though he does feel suddenly lightheaded. The doorbell rings before she can call his bluff, and he glances in that direction. “That’ll be Phyllis, then. I suppose I should get it.”

Barbara raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure you won’t faint on your way?”

“Of course not.” Tom kisses her on the cheek, then climbs out of bed and makes his way in a mostly-straight line to the front door. Sure enough, Phyllis is standing there patiently, delivery bag in hand.

“Good evening, Reverend,” she says pleasantly. “Or perhaps I should say good morning.”

Tom lets her in, turning to glance at the clock as he does so. “Yes, I suppose it is morning,” he observes. “Ah, Barbara is in the bedroom. She seems to be doing well.”

“Of course she is,” Phyllis says confidently. “Boil some water, if you would. I’ll go see where we are in the process.”

Tom gabs the kettle, but before he manages to fill it, a groan of pain draws his attention back to the bedroom. He drops the kettle without thinking, spilling water all over the floor.

It’s going to be a long night.

\---

Barbara can’t believe how excruciatingly painful this is. Wave after wave of pain washes over her, leaving her exhausted and in tears after a good fourteen hours.

“You’re doing so well, Barbara,” Phyllis says, and her words are ones Barbara has heard many times, but never from this side of the equation. She finds her friend’s gentle voice even more soothing than usual tonight. “That’s it, lass, you’re almost done. I can see baby’s head.”

Barbara lifts her head. “Really?”

Phyllis nods, giving her a proud smile. “Just keep pushing. Your baby will be here in no time.”

With new motivation, Barbara gives her friend a quick nod, devoting all of her energy to pushing with the next contraction. The pain is beyond belief, but as it fades, Phyllis calls out encouragement. “That’s it, lass! Just like that!”

Barbara keeps pushing. She knows Phyllis continues to talk to her, but she’s lost in a haze of pain, using everything she’s got to bring her child into the world. She doesn’t know exactly when it ends, but at some point, the pain does fade for the last time, and Phyllis’ words become audible again. “A little girl, Barbara! You have a daughter!”

“Is she-- she’s not--” Barbara is still trying to catch her breath, but she ignores her pain as she tries to sit up. “Why hasn’t she--”

Before she can finish her sentence, the baby lets out a wonderful wail, stimulated by Phyllis rubbing her back. Barbara laughs in delight and relief, already reaching for her daughter. The baby is laid in her arms, and she lies back against her sweat-soaked pillows, staring into her daughter’s eyes for the first time. “Oh, she’s wonderful,” she whispers.

Phyllis nods approvingly. “A nice, weighty lass. She’s big enough to stay warm through these winter nights.”

Nodding, Barbara strokes a finger down her daughter’s arm, grinning when a tiny hand wraps around her finger. “Could you bring Tom in?”

“Of course.”

She hears Phyllis leave, and hears Tom rush across the wooden floors, then stop abruptly with a gasp. She looks up to find him in the doorway, staring in awe at her and their little girl.

“Come here,” she murmurs. “Come meet her.”

Tom moves as if spellbound, sitting next to her on the bed and gently reaching out to touch his daughter. “Barbara, she’s… she’s perfect.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Barbara beams at him, and the love clear in his gaze makes her feel warm and happy.

“Do you still like the name you picked out for a little girl?”

“I do.” Barbara strokes her daughter’s hair. “Eve.”

“Eve Barbara Hereward,” Tom murmurs. He draws the sign of the cross over the baby’s forehead. “May the Lord bless you and protect you.”

Barbara leans over and kisses him on the cheek, then on the mouth, when he turns. “That’s a wonderful blessing, Tom.”

“She’s a wonderful blessing.” He stares down at Eve. “I love her so much already. I love you both.”

At that, Barbara can’t help but smile even wider, and the tears that begin are no longer tears of pain but of joy. “And I love the both of you, too.”

Phyllis is standing in the doorway, ready to bathe and weigh baby Eve. Barbara, too, needs to be examined, to make sure the afterbirth comes away easily. There are still things to be done, but they do not need to be done now.

For now, Barbara, Tom, and Eve have a moment of peace.


	2. The Lord Taketh Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you all know what has to happen now...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just so there's no confusion on the timeline, this fic pushes Barbara's death back by a good amount of time. Eve is eight months old now, and, on an unrelated note, Trixie is home from Italy.

Barbara has never been one for naps. She doesn’t like the thought of falling asleep and not knowing when she’s going to wake up. She could be out for twenty minutes, or she could sleep half the day away.

As it turns out, this morning is mostly the latter. After the excitement of the fire and then delivering the Davidson twins, Tom had convinced her to take the day off, and rest. She’s in and out of consciousness a bit, but she doesn’t fully wake until hours later. Noises from outside the bedroom slowly seep in, and soon after that, she feels a new weight on the bed. When someone tugs at the blankets by her shoulder, Barbara rolls over to see eight-month-old Eve half in a crawling position, half lying on the bed. The happy baby giggles at her mother.

“Hello, you,” Barbara says. She’s surprised when the words scratch her throat. “Oh, don’t come too close. It feels like Mummy’s getting sick.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want that,” comes another voice from the doorway, love and adoration in his tone. “How about some warm tea, then?”

She smiles at Tom. “It wouldn’t go amiss, but… shouldn’t you be getting to the Davidsons’ dinner?”

“I can stay here long enough to get you a little something,” he assures her. He comes closer, bending to kiss her forehead. Barbara smiles and tangles her fingers with his.

“Thank you.”

He kisses her in response, then starts out of the room, but Barbara stops him.

“Tom,” she suggests, already coughing, “take Eve with you. I don’t want her getting sick, and besides, I’m not sure I’m coherent enough to be watching a baby right now.”

“Always thinking ahead,” he murmurs, smiling at her as he scoops Eve into his arms. “I’ll get you that tea.”

Barbara doesn’t know whether he does or not, because as soon as he’s through the door, she rolls over and goes right back to sleep.

\---

Eve is fussy tonight, reluctant to go to sleep. As she sits vigil over her sick friend, Phyllis is almost thankful for the distraction.

“Don’t fret, little one,” she says gently. “Your mother will be just fine. Let’s see if we can find you something to chew on.”

Before she can start her search a knock comes at the door. Seeing as she’d called for Dr. Turner a good fifteen minutes ago, the interruption is welcome.

“I got here as soon as I could,” Dr. Turner says, in lieu of an actual greeting. “What seems to be the matter?”

“Her fever hasn’t broken,” Phyllis says, trying to tell herself that this is just another case of a rough illness. The not-quite-dozing baby in her arms makes that difficult. “I called you when I noticed the rash. It seems to be confined to her arms.”

Dr. Turner hums and begins a quick examination of Barbara. He feels her pulse and locates the rash on her arm. When he presses, the color doesn’t disappear. “Barbara,” he says.

She blinks, waking slowly. “Doctor Turner.” The words are followed by a cough.

“Barbara, can you kick your legs for me?”

She squirms a bit, her face contorting in pain and a groan escaping her mouth. “No.” When she turns to Phyllis, the older nurse takes her hand. Barbara coughs again. “I’m afraid I’m rather unwell.”

Phyllis shifts Eve to lie on her shoulder so she can have her other arm free to comfort Barbara. “Hang in there, lass. The hospital will get you all fixed up.”

Dr. Turner nods. “I’m going to call an ambulance.”

\---

Trixie is on call tonight, so she’s closest to the door when the doorbell rings. She answers it to find Dr. Turner, which isn’t a terribly unusual occurrence, but he’s holding Eve Hereward.

She cocks her head. “Good evening! To what do we owe this unexpected visit?”

“I’ve come to ask you to watch Eve for the night,” Patrick answers. “I’m afraid Barbara is in the hospital, and I’ve got to go find Tom.”

Trixie takes her pseudo-niece from the doctor. “No! What’s the matter? I heard she was ill, but…”

“I can’t definitively say,” Dr. Turner replies. He won’t look her in the eye.

Trixie raises her eyebrows. “Well, you’re an experienced GP. Surely you have a preliminary diagnosis.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. 

“Patrick.” Trixie fixes him with a sharp stare. “You wouldn’t have sent her to the hospital if you didn’t have an idea of what was wrong.”

“I really have to go, Nurse Franklin.” He looks down at Eve, and his somber face grows darker still. “I have to find Mr. Hereward. I’m sure he’ll keep you all updated.”

Trixie nods sharply, and turns on her heel. Even if she has to accept defeat, she can do it regally. Patrick leaves quickly, and Trixie carries Eve toward the sitting room.

“Well,” she says to the child, “what do you make of that?”

\---

Tom has had a very long day. His visit to the parishioner had gone well, but now it’s late and he’s tired and he just wants to get back to his wife and daughter. To his disappointment, walking home he spies Dr. Turner, clearly waiting for him.

“Tom, thank god,” the doctor says. “You’re needed at the hospital.”

Tom grimaces. “Don’t they have an assigned chaplain? Barbara is unwell, I should get home…”

“It’s Barbara who needs you,” Patrick tells him. Those words send a bolt of fear down Tom’s spine, erasing all traces of tiredness. “Get in the car.”

“What’s wrong? She seemed alright when I left, just fighting a cold…” another thought suddenly occurs to him. “Hold on, what about Eve? Is Phyllis with her?”

“Phyllis went to the hospital with Barbara. I took Eve to stay at Nonnatus house.”

Tom is comfortable with that. “And Barbara? What happened?”

Dr. Turner looks very much like he does not want to say what must be said next. “She’s showing symptoms of sepsis.”

\---

Tom nearly collapses as he walks into his house, nearly a full day after finding Patrick waiting for him. He’s been at the hospital all day. He’s been sitting and waiting in stiff chairs, closing his eyes against the harsh light glaring off the green painted walls. A few times, he’d asked if he could visit Barbara. The answer was always no. She was still infectious. He could get sick. While part of Tom had wanted to protest that, he knew he couldn’t chance bringing infection home to Eve.

Even now he washes his hands, trying to keep the germs at bay. After he towels them off, Phyllis hands Eve to him, and he kisses his daughter and goes to sit on the couch with her in his arms.

“You don’t need to stay, Phyllis,” he says quietly. “We’ll be alright. I’ll get Eve to bed and then try to catch some shut-eye myself.”

“Oh, Mr. Hereward, I don’t believe you’ll sleep a wink,” Phyllis says. It’s true, if blunt. Tom could use some blunt right now.

“Phyllis, what is septicemia? What does it do?”

“It’s a blood infection, Tom.” The nurse sounds weary and mournful. “The sign of an illness too far gone. And as for what it does… it kills.”

Okay, maybe bluntness isn’t exactly what he wants. Tom holds Eve closer, drawing comfort from her snuggles and her warm scent. “Barbara’s strong, though. She’ll be alright.” _She has to be._

Phyllis nods. “She’s one of the strongest people I know.”

\---

When Barbara wakes up, she feels worse than before. She can’t feel all of her body, and what she can feel hurts. But there’s a familiar hand on her arm, a familiar voice promising a future of love and happiness and a green countryside. All in all, things could be worse.

“We need you, Barbara,” Tom is saying. He’s bent over her bed, head bowed almost as if he’s praying. “We all need you. Not just me and Eve… Phyllis has been here every day, you know.”

Though her head aches and every movement is a trial, Barbara, turns slightly, lifting her hand to cup Tom’s face. “Seems like you’ve been here even more often,” she manages, her voice rasping from her dry throat. “You need a shave.”

Tom’s eyes are watery, but his smile is as wide as she’s ever seen. “Fred said you’d say that.”

“Well, Fred is a very smart man.” She frowns. “Tom, if you’re here… where is Eve?”

“Nonnatus house, I expect,” he says. “Phyllis and the rest of the nurses have been watching her. I’ll admit to spending most of my time here… but can you blame me?”

Barbara chuckles, though it hurts her chest. “I’m honored. And it sounds like she’s in good hands.” For a moment, she regards her own; rashes down her arms and her fingertips a dark red. She almost shivers at the sight.

“So…” now, she needs Tom’s voice, his comfort, to distract her. “Tell me more about your dreams of a family in the countryside.”

\---

Over the next few days, Barbara gets better. She’s still fighting the infection, and she’s not out of the woods quite yet, but she’s getting better, and that’s what Tom chooses to focus on. All of his prayers are full of thanks, now, as opposed to the desperate pleading that had filled them for the first few days. He leaves the hospital hopeful instead of forlorn, and is more able to enjoy his nights with his daughter.

“Mummy’s getting better,” he says to Eve, bouncing her in his arms. “Your aunts are allowed to visit her now. She’s got lots of flowers, because everyone loves her so much.” He swings Eve into the air, then brings her down to plant a kiss on her forehead. “I know she misses you. She loves you. I love you, too.”

Eve squeals happily, her arms waving. Tom laughs at the sight, his heart warming. “We’re all going to be okay, aren’t we?” He kisses her again, carrying her to her cradle. “Yes, yes we are.”

\---

Barbara lies in her hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, or at Phyllis, or at nothing in particular. Tom has just recently left, giving her a kiss and promising a quick return. She and Phyllis are alone now, alone with the elephant in the room.

For the hundredth time that week, Barbara lifts her hands, regarding her darkened fingers. She can’t feel anything with them now, and the color continues to get worse. She knows it. Phyllis knows it. The hospital nurses who can’t quite replace their frowns with smiles know it.

“Tom brought Eve over to me for a cuddle, when we thought I just had a cold,” she says. Her voice is quiet, sapped of energy. She doesn’t bother to raise it. “I told him he should keep her in her crib; I didn’t want to get her sick.” She turns her hand over again, running it over the blankets that cover her. She can’t feel them anymore. “I wish I hadn’t. I would have liked to hold her one last time.”

“Oh, Barbara…” but Phyllis trails off. There is nothing she can say that will make this better. No simple words can erase the writing on the wall.

“This next bit is going to be hard,” Barbara sighs. Seeing that Phyllis’ eyes have filled with tears, she reaches out to take her friend’s hand. “I know… I know this is a lot to ask, but… I need you to look out for Tom, alright? I’m not worried about Eve. If I know Tom at all, he’ll throw himself into taking care of her, but I don’t think he’ll take care of himself.”

Phyllis wipes her eyes. “A reasonable assumption. He’s been in bad shape even with you just in the hospital, I don’t want to think about…” she breaks off, shaking her head.

“Don’t stay sad for too long,” Barbara nearly pleads. “You know I hate to make people upset.”

Laughter follows, briefly, but Barbara’s turns to a coughing fit, and Phyllis’ turns to tears.

\---

Tom can’t believe it.

He’d thought she was getting _better._

He’d thought she was getting better, but a call from the hospital had woken him in the middle of the night, had had him rushing to Nonnatus house, dropping Eve with Valerie and begging Phyllis for a ride. She’d been in the driver’s seat before he’d finished his sentence.

“Talk to her,” Phyllis murmurs, her words barely audible over Barbara struggling to breathe. “She can still hear you.”

Tom nods, swallowing hard as he tries to speak. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He maketh me lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside still waters.” Tears are wetting his cheeks, but he continues. “He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.” 

This particular psalm normally comforts him. He isn’t finding any comfort now.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…” 

He can’t do it. His voice breaks on the word ‘death’, when he makes the mistake of looking up at Barbara, so utterly sill and close to lifeless. He slumps forward, taking her hand in his and resting his head on her arm. For the first time in his memory, the psalm sticks to his tongue and does not fall from his lips.

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me,” Phyllis says. “Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.” Her own voice sounds close to tears, but she continues on where Tom cannot. “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.”

Tom pushes himself up, cupping Barbara’s face in his hands. As he drops his lips to hers for a final kiss, he hears Phyllis finish the prayer.

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

\---

“Flowers. We have to have flowers. Nice ones.” Trixie takes a drag on her cigarette, pacing back and forth across the Nonnatus house parlor. “Ugh, Fall is such a hard season for flowers… I’m not sure what we could get… Tom? Opinions on flowers?”

Tom, sitting on the couch with Eve asleep in his arms, doesn’t look up. “Colorful.”

“Alright, yes, that makes sense… yellow is doable, and perhaps some pink… I think roses would be too much, Valerie, am I right?”

Valerie briefly glances up from her book. Tom hasn’t been paying attention, but he doesn’t think she’s turned a page for at least twenty minutes. “They do seem a bit much, yes.”

Lucille, who’s been flipping through the photo albums Tom can no longer stand to look at, speaks up. “Trixie, perhaps we should take a look at where in the church the flowers will be before we decide on exact arrangements.”

Trixie blows a smoke ring, looking thoughtful. “Yes, I suppose that makes sense.” She pauses with her cigarette halfway to her lips. “Wait a minute. Who’s preaching?”

At this, Tom looks up for the first time. Everyone in the room is looking at him, their expressions ranging from sympathetic to wary. He can only sigh.

“Not me.”

\---

The service is beautiful, or so everyone says. It seems to be one of the default remarks, right up there with ‘sorry for your loss’. The women of the congregation murmur their condolences and coo over Eve, as always. The men attempt to do the same but seem vastly less comfortable.

Tom thinks it might have something to do with the fact that he’s openly crying; he has been almost since the service started. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him. His wife has died, and now the list of things he cares about is infinitely smaller than before.

“Reverend Hereward, I am so sorry about your wife,” says yet another sympathetic parishioner. This one is a middle-aged woman with a toddler on her hip. “Please let me know if you need any help. Oh, and your poor little girl… so terrible that she’ll never know her mother.” The woman reaches for Eve and Tom steps back instinctively. Before he can try to cover the awkward movement, Trixie swoops in.

“Mrs. Holland, oh, so lovely to see you here. You know, I think I saw your boys running around in the parish hall, it seems as though some trouble might be afoot.”

Mrs. Holland hurries off, muttering things under her breath that Tom would be more hesitant to say on church grounds. Trixie turns to Tom with a smile. He wonders if she knows he can see how fragile it is.

“If you’d like, I’m sure we can have Phyllis spirit you away in her car.”

“Or, I could walk the fifty yards between here and my house.” 

“It seems as though that might be more of a difficult task than it should.”

Tom nods. He can’t muster so much as a polite laugh for the halfhearted joke. Beginning to walk, he looks down at Eve is his arms. She stares up at him. She has Barbara’s eyes.

“She will know her,” he says suddenly. “I don’t know… I don’t know how long it will be before I can say her name. But Eve will know her mother.”

“Of course,” Trixie says gently. “We’ll all help you, Tom. We’re not just going to erase her.”

Tom shakes his head as he grabs the door handle to the rectory. “I don’t think I could if I tried.”

\---

The night after the funeral, Phyllis puts another rotation into place, this one for making sure Tom eats dinner and takes care of himself. Doubtlessly other Poplar residents will be filling his house with food at this point, but, reflecting on her last conversation with Barbara, Phyllis isn’t sure the vicar will even want to do so much as put a dish in the oven. So, mindful of her promise to her dear friend, she heads off to the rectory.

“Good evening, Tom,” she says softly, entering without knocking lest he be pushing everyone away.

Tom glances up briefly from where he’s standing in front of the high chair, offering Eve a cup of soup.

Phyllis eyes the kitchen; there’s a pot of soup on the stove, and it looks warm, which is more than she’d expected. “Have you eaten?”

“I’m giving Eve her dinner now.”

“I can see that, Mr. Hereward. That’s not what I asked.”

“I’m not hungry.” He successfully feeds the baby the last of the soup. “Eve needs a bath.”

Phyllis steps forward, her hands on her hips. “Well, how about this: I’ll bathe young Miss Hereward, and you can get yourself some dinner. When you’re finished, Eve will be clean, and you can put her to bed.”

Tom sighs. “I said I’m not hungry, Phyllis.” He doesn’t sound irritated, just… broken. Phyllis is all too familiar with the feeling, a similar hole currently torn in her own heart.

“I know you aren’t,” she says gently. “You’re not hungry, you’re not thirsty, you’re so, so tired, but you don’t want to sleep. That’s alright, Tom. This is what grief feels like. But you need to make yourself keep going, anyway. That way, when you can see through the grief, there will be enough of you left to stand up once more.”

Tom finally looks up at her, lifting Eve into his arms. “Lord, Phyllis, I _know._ I’ve told so many people something similar, over the years. But now…” his voice breaks, tears beginning anew. “I can’t do it, Phyllis. I can’t do it without her.”

“Yes, you can, Tom.” Phyllis doesn’t hesitate to step forward and wrap him in a hug. “You can do it. Just take it one day, one hour, one minute at a time.”

“I miss her so much,” he says thickly, “and I’ve barely made it through the week. What am I supposed to do, Phyllis? How do I go on?”

“Tom, you have to find that out for yourself,” she sighs. “But we’ll be with you every step of the way. Start with some soup, lad. Eat something. I’ll get your little girl cleaned up, and you just try to eat.”

She doesn’t know if he does, but when she returns with a clean, sleepy baby, he’s sitting with a half-full bowl of soup. Phyllis smiles and hands him Eve. “I think someone is ready for bed.”

Tom carries Eve to her cradle, laying her carefully amidst the warm blankets. As if he does it every night, he lifts the Book of Common Prayer from the mantle, flipping through to find a bedtime prayer.

“He reached down from on high and grasped me; he drew me out of great waters. He delivered me from my strong enemies and those who hated me, for they were too mighty for me. They confronted me in the day of my disaster, but the Lord…” he swallows. “The Lord was my support.” There’s more to the prayer, but he shuts the book. Phyllis watches as he sets it aside, adding his own ending. “And so shall I be yours.”

As he reaches down to stroke Eve’s cheek, Phyllis smiles softly and backs out of the room.

This night is no longer hers to intrude on.


	3. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nine years or so after Barbara's death... how are Tom and Eve doing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading this little whirlwind of a fic! if you like it, you'll be happy (i hope) to know I have two sequels planned, to go up at some point. I'll mark this as part of a series as soon as I get a sequel posted. enjoy this chapter!

Nine-year-old Eve Hereward skips quickly down the sidewalk, hopping over uneven bits of concrete and dodging slower-moving passerby. A few people wave at her, and some call out her name. She responds cheerfully, but doesn’t slow; like many children, she’s too caught up in the energy of life to move at a reasonable pace.

The florist’s shop is open, literally-- the door stands ajar, letting the pleasant Spring breeze blow through. A chalkboard sign out front advertises a sale-- 50% off all bouquets. Eve grins, reaching into her pocket for money.

“Morning, Mrs. Walker,” she says lightly, standing on her toes to see over the counter.

“Good morning to you too, Miss Hereward,” the florist responds. Eve beams. She likes when people call her Miss Hereward; it makes her feel grown up. After all, she’s already old enough to run errands on her own, and Mrs. Buckle says she gets bigger every day.

“May I please have a flower bouquet?” she asks, setting the bills on the counter. “Dad says that’ll get me a medium one, with them being on sale.”

Mrs. Walker laughs and shakes her head. “No charge, Eve. I still remember your mum helping me when my little boy came a full month early. Take whichever flowers you like.”

“Okay.” Eve shrugs, lowering herself back to normal height and heading over to peruse the many bouquets. She finds one with yellow, purple, and pink flowers that looks about the right size. Pulling it from the bucket, she grins over her shoulder at the florist. “Thanks, Mrs. Walker!”

“Anytime! Oh, and do tell your father that this morning’s service was lovely.”

Eve gives a wave as she steps out the door. “I will!”

Her walk back home is slower, as she’s more mindful of the flowers in her arms. They smell fresh, like the Nonnatus garden, or the church flowers she sometimes helps arrange. Their bright colors make them perfect for the occasion.

“I’m back,” she calls out, opening the door mostly with her shoulder. “The latch is sticking again.”

“Oh, bother,” her father sighs, twisting the door handle a few times, as if that will fix it. “Good job getting flowers; those are beautiful. Do you have any change for me?”

Eve hands him the same money he’d sent her out with. “Mrs. Walker said I didn’t need to pay, on account of Mum helped her when her baby came early.”

“That baby is going to high school this year,” Tom sighs, laughing a bit. “She’ll need to start charging us sometime.”

Shrugging, Eve hands him the flowers. “It’s like you always say… everyone loved Mum.”

“You couldn’t meet her without loving her,” her father agrees. “Do you have your card?”

Eve darts off to her room, grabbing the folded paper off the desk that has always tilted to the left. She skids back into the kitchen with a grin on her face. “Right here.”

“Well, then, what are we waiting for?”

She’s already pulling open the door to the church yard. “Just you.”

Together, they walk through the grass, with the last remnants of dew still clinging to the green blades. Tom carries the flowers, and Eve, calm and slow for once, carries her card. The gate to the graveyard opens silently; though it may be old, this church is well taken care of. Father and daughter weave through the graves, some a hundred years old, some only a few months.

Eve is the first to crouch, setting her hand-drawn card on a gravestone adorned with waterlogged photographs, bottles of colorful nail polish, and a slowly rusting metal carousel. “Happy Mother's Day, Mum.”

Tom follows suit, leaning the bright flowers against the headstone. “We miss you, Barbara,” he murmurs. “We love you.” He tilts his head, looking at Eve. “Anything you want to tell her?”

Eve _always_ has things she wants to tell her mum. “Dad talked about you in the sermon today,” she starts. “He talked about family, and love, and being grateful for those around us. I’m grateful that you’re so close so I can come see you whenever I want.”

“I’m grateful for the time we had,” Tom adds. He sounds like he’s crying, but Eve isn’t surprised. He cries over her mum every Mother's day, and every time her birthday rolls around, and every winter, on their anniversary. “Barbara, I wish you could see Eve right now. I bet you can, from all the way up there. She’s absolutely perfect, love. She reminds me more and more of you every day.”

Eve smiles, leaning into her dad’s arms as he pulls her into a hug. “I love you, Mum.”

Her father kisses her temple, then reaches out to lay a hand on the headstone. “Happy Mother's Day, Barbara.” Eve, with her head against his neck, can feel him swallow. “We love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading! if you like this little ending, maybe leave a comment or kudos!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I always love comments and kudos, or come find me at nursebarbarahereward on tumblr, if you want to chat!


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